


the invisible song found between two bodies

by thanatopis



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Vigilantes, Jason is older than Dick, M/M, Modeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 18:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13300794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatopis/pseuds/thanatopis
Summary: Richard Grayson-Wayne is months away from graduating Gotham Academy and beginning his life independent of the one he's come to know at the manor with Bruce and Alfred. With new opportunities on the horizon, Dick meets an intriguing man on the streets of Gotham, and can't pin-point where exactly he knows the stranger from.





	the invisible song found between two bodies

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this months ago with an idea to just write filthy back alley porn, but something...cute developed in its place instead. Now we're left with this lol.
> 
> Anyways, hope you all enjoy! Leave kudos and comments!

The October breeze spirals down in-between the buildings of Gotham, stirring the ends of Dick’s scarf as the fringes tickle the underside of his chin. Dick wraps his arms closer around his chest, trying to bury the warmth residing inside his bones until he reaches home. It’s that time of year where the evenings grow significantly colder than the days. Dick is regretting leaving the manor this morning without a coat, like Alfred had helpfully suggested as he’d run out the door.

Dick preoccupies himself on his walk home with illicit thoughts of Parker Sanders—the boy he’d agreed to tutor in British Lit. The one who has a foot outside of the closet and looks at Dick as if he wants him to persuade Parker the rest of the way out. It makes sense. Dick has an infamous reputation at Gotham Academy for being shameless in his promiscuousness with both the male and female student body. He doesn’t mind in the _slightest_ being Parker’s guinea pig when it comes to figuring out his sexuality, in fact, he’s utterly delighted by it.

It’s then Dick notices the broad, lone figure out of the corner of his eye. His heart picks up a beat when he makes eye contact with a man leaning against the opening of the alley way.

The man is older, but not by much. He watches Dick approach him with a keen eye, cigarette between his crooked lips as he takes a long drag. Dick is used to being stared at—he knows how he looks—but the intensity of the man’s stare makes the hairs on the back of Dick’s neck rise in attention.

Dick coughs loudly, averting his gaze awkwardly as he nears closer, hoping that the man will take the hint.

He doesn’t.

“You have a light?”

Dick pauses mid-step, coming to a stop. The man has a husky voice, deep and rich, nothing like the wheezing exhale of sound Dick stereotypically expects most smokers to have. He pointedly looks the man in the eye before his gaze drops down to the orange burning end of the ashen cigarette. Dick’s brow arches, knowing. The man barks a laugh, delighted and amused by this.

“It got you to stop, now didn’t it?” The man lowers the cigarette, allowing the smoke to billow from his parted lips. The whips expand and weave in non sensical patterns above his head, making the man seem like some vision out of hazy dream.

Dick is mildly stunned by this man’s audacity, enough to let out a startled laugh of his own. Upon taking a closer look, the man isn’t half bad looking. He’s handsome in the rugged sense; a scar bisects his left brow and he has a tattoo on his hand between the skin of his thumb and index finger, something geometric and beautiful. Dick’s eyes linger on his fingers for a moment too long; they’re surprisingly clean, nails short and well-manicured, veins subtlety protruding from his skin, and bruise knuckled.

They’re nice hands.

Dick shifts his weight from one foot to another, knowing how the movement makes his hips look. He smiles when he catches the man’s eyes follow the easy sway of his body.

“Do you usually try to lure high school boys into dimly lit alleyways, or am I just special?” Dick asks, cheeky. Dick is carefree with this stranger in ways only someone who is entirely confident in his own defending capabilities can be.

Not even a month into his adoption and Bruce had hired five separate instructors to teach Dick various ways of protecting himself. He was proficient in taekwondo, judo, Brazilian ju-jitsu, capoeira, and tai-chi. Bruce had accepted nothing less, and Dick had been happy to learn. It had given him something meaningful to focus on while he’d grieved his parents.

“Your Bruce Wayne’s boy,” The man says, ignoring Dick’s question all together.

Rude, Dick contemplates. Conversations go both ways.

The fact that the man recognized who Dick was wasn’t a surprise. The paparazzi didn’t follow Dick around as much as they did Bruce, but their interest in his life heighted this year with Dick’s upcoming graduation, and his acceptance into Brown University.

“The one and only,” Dick confirms, lips parting around the smile he’d perfected for the paparazzi years ago; it made his eyes shine and his dimples deepen. “You want a picture? That’s what people usually want from me when this happens, or…?” Dick trails off uncertainly.

The man snorts loudly, rolling his eyes. He drops his cigarette butt to the ground and stomps on the ember with the sole of his boot. He sighs like he’s exasperated with Dick—for whatever reason—and shakes his head.

“Way to make a guy feel special,” He mutters to himself, though his eyes never leave Dick’s own. It almost feels like he’s being teased in some way. “You _honestly_ don’t recognize me?”

Dick’s brows furrow in confusion as his mouth parts for breath. His eyes narrow on the man’s face, and for the life of him, Dick cannot fathom where he knows this man from. He feels like he would remember such a handsome face; a man who smelled like a mix of smoke, amber, and the city all wrapped up in a red and black motor cycle jacket with a devil-may-care attitude.

“Should I know you?” Dick asks, curious.

The man hums like he’s questioning the very same thing himself.

“Probably not.” He shrugs, and then turns away like he’s bored with the conversation, and therefore, with Dick. Dick however is oddly enraptured; he jerks with his body’s urge to follow, but quickly masks the startled step forward with another pointed shift of his hips.

Eyes wide, Dick barks a short, rough sounding laugh.

“What kind of half-assed answer is that?”

The man twists his torso, showcasing the profile of his face against the dim light. Dick’s breath catches and in that moment, he has the overwhelming urge to reach out and grip the man’s hand to pull him back, maybe even learn what his name is, because it seems unfair that he won’t ever know.

“I’ll see you around Grayson.”

The man takes one last indulgent glimpse before he disappears into the alleyway, leaving Dick feeling dumbfounded and strangely aggrieved. Dick stands there, watching after broad shoulders and a generous ass, long after they’ve vanished from sight.

Even as Dick lays down for bed, ruminations of Parker Sanders utterly forgotten, he can’t place where he knows the man from, no matter how hard he wracks his brain for an answer.

 

 

Three weeks passed, and Dick hadn’t thought much about the strange man he’d encountered in the alleyway in downtown Gotham. Dick’s life had become increasingly busy as of late. In addition to school, Dick recently signed with a modeling agency that would have him parading around in designers like Tom Ford, Calvin Klein, and up and coming indie brands that would pay a pretty penny for bachelor Bruce Wayne’s son wearing their clothes.

Dick’s first contract job is in New York City—only a 45-minute flight on their private jet from Gotham. The drive into the city seems to take longer with all the rush hour traffic. Dick is anxious but excited, it’s not his first time in front of a professional photographer, but it is his first time without Bruce, and being the center of attention in front of the camera.

He arrives, and the organizer greets him and summarizes what Dick can expect from today’s shoot. The first hour is of him, solo, in Amani Shikhan’s male summer line up, modeling the light weight pastel blazers with slacks to match and the more casual ankle pants with button-up floral dress shirts. The second half of the shoot is with one other male model Dick has yet to meet. He only hopes they’ll be able to get along, otherwise it’ll be excruciating.

They guide him to hair and make-up which Dick doesn’t expect to take as long as it does. While there, Dick befriends the lovely young woman who straightens his hair, then gels it back in a professionally stylish do. She gives him a mirror, encouraging him to look, and when Dick meets his own gaze he brazenly licks over his teeth and gives himself a wink.

It doesn’t go unnoticed to Dick that he resembles Bruce with his slicked back hair and perfectly arched brows. Bruce, even to this day, refuses to model despite the _very_ generous offers his adoptive father has been given. Dick must seem like heaven sent—a second best replacement. He doesn’t mind one bit.

Dick is innocently flirting with Sandra—the make-up artist whose job it is to make sure Dick looks effortlessly gorgeous like he simply wakes up with even, blemish free skin—when he hears the chair next to him deflate as a body collapse into it. He doesn’t pay the new person much mind, enjoying how even though Sandra is far older than him and married, she still blushes at his attentions.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” Sandra says, powdering Dick’s nose. She looks exasperated with him. It’s a look Dick is familiar with. He laughs, apologizing when his tremors make Sandra pause with applicator brush in hand, and then laughs harder at her reproachful look when he cannot stop.

“I’d never,” Dick teases, grinning for good measure. He wipes an invisible tear from the corner of his eye.

Sandra exhales a loud breath and rolls her eyes. It’s contradictory to the smile on her face. She puts the pad of her index finger under Dick’s chin, turning his head this way and that, humming to herself. Pleased, she claps her hands together.

“I’d say you’re good to go,” Sandra says, giving Dick a thorough once over. “You can wait here until Maxine calls for you.” She puts her hand on his shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “It was nice meeting you Dick.”

Dick bids her a goodbye. He grabs for his phone and checks to see if he has any missed messages. He has two; one from Parker Sanders who asks when they can get together to “study” again. Dick exhales and leaves the message on read. He’ll talked to his British Lit teacher about getting another tutor for Parker. The other is from Bruce, informing Dick of a random fact he’s recently learned, like why grass makes our skin itch, or that ketchup was once sold as medicine in the 1830’s. Dick smiles and sends, “your age is showing old man.”

The director of the shoot, Maxine March, makes her somber entrance and calls Dick back into wardrobe. Getting dressed has never taken Dick so long. The director’s assistant worries over him like how he’s seen mothers distress over their children getting their Ralph Lauren dirty. By the time he’s officially ready for the camera, an hour has past and Dick has managed to work himself up into an anxious, self-doubting, tizzy. He’s never had a problem being the center of attention, but the pressure that arises when you’re being paid to preform is a little daunting. He never had this issue before, Dick sourly thinks. Maybe it’s because of how close the cameras are this time around. They’re not far off, distance bursts of brilliant life.

Maxine is kind enough not to leave him hanging out to dry as she initially directs Dick into poses and small jumps that make his hair bounce, as if the boyishness he radiates on camera is enough to have his hair defying gravity. It’s simple after that. Maxine’s directions steadily die off, until they quiet completely. She becomes enraptured with taking her shots, confident enough allow Dick to lead.

It only seems like a few short minutes have passed as Maxine lets the camera carefully hang around her neck, announcing the first half of the shoot complete. She calls for a thirty-minute break for the crew, and for Dick to get his make-up retouched. The overhead lights are scorching, and Dick is pretty sure his nose is just as shiny as his hair.

“Great job Richard,” Maxine praises. “You’re a natural in front of the camera.”

Dick beams at the compliment, and any remaining anxieties flow right out of him. He’s got this.

Dick is then escorted back into wardrobe where he’s fitted into a pastel blue blazer, white dress slacks rolled up to his ankles, with nude, Sperry-like boat shoes adorning his feet. As he turns his waist to inspect his behind in the mirror, Dick acknowledges that the outfit is not unlike something he’d wear during the warmer months. An assistant hands Dick a cold bottle of water and he takes gulps of it, careful not to spill any on his clothes.

Only when Dick is the epitome of picture perfect, does the assistant leave him be.

With the brief alone time he’s given, Dick takes a quick, flirty selfie and updates his twitter. Immediately, the picture explodes with likes and retweets, and Dick laughs to himself as he reads through the replies. They range from ‘yes baby, slay with those spring looks’ to ‘i literally want to DIE he looks so fucking good WTF.’

Dick startles a bit when the door swings open, and the voice following is one he strangely recognizes.

“Tell Maxine I really did wake up on time,” says the man he’d thought he’d never in his life see again. The man’s husky Gothamite accent is unmistakable and Dick practically breaks his back trying to twist in his chair to get a sight of him. The pain in his back is worth it. Dick’s eyes drink up the sight of broad shoulders decked out in a red, black, and white motor cycle jacket, under shirt riding up along his side, revealing an alluring sliver of skin. “Traffic is a bitch this time of day and I live on the other side of town.”

Dick then realizes that it’s not _him_ the man is talking too, but Sandra who gives him several sympathetic pats on the back. They know each other then.

“I keep telling you to set your alarm earlier, but you never listen.” Sandra says, like a mother chastising her wayward son.

The man grimaces at the suggestion like setting his alarm any earlier than he has too physically pains him. He opens his mouth, ready to say more, but then his eyes catch Dick’s and his bewildered expression, and he does something so unexpected, so shocking, that Dick loses the ability to do anything other than gape stupidly like some goldfish.

The man grins at him knowingly, showing off gleaming pearly whites.

“This the little Waynelet I’ll be sharing the shoot with today?” The man says, teasing. He shrugs off his jacket in one smooth motion and that _does things_ to Dick. His biceps are a work of art all on their own. 

And _thank god_ for Sandra— _truly_ —as the woman takes the responsibility of introducing them to one another.

“Be nice,” Sandra orders, nudging the man with her shoulder and he chuckles, murmuring something that sound a lot like ‘yes mother’ under his breath. “Jason, this is Richard Grayson-Wayne. He’ll tell you to call him Dick though. Dick, this is Jason Todd, a bad influence if there ever was one. He rides a Ducati and will make it his personal mission in life to take you for a ride, so here’s your heads up—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Dick swallows, heavy. The words, _take you for a ride_ , repeating on a loop inside his head. He manages a weak, “Hi,” in response.

Jason’s eyes shine brilliantly; a blue-green mix that reminds Dick of the Caribbean during the height of summer. He watches Dick with utter merriment in his gaze, biting at his bottom lip as if trying to keep laughter at bay.

“It’s nice to meet you Grayson.”

 

 

Dick resists the urge to call out to Sandra when she announces she’s finished with Jason’s hair and make-up. He looks over, unable to help himself, and sees that Jason is the perfected version of the rugged man who swaggered in late to the shoot.

Sandra bids them goodbye and leaves them alone for the first time since that chilly October evening.

Dick shifts, uncomfortably aware of his own body and how the chair creaks under his weight.

It’s quiet for a moment until Dick gathers his courage and says, “I didn’t expect to see you again.” Dick’s eyes flicker over to Jason, startling a bit when he realizes Jason is already looking at him. He smiles weakly. “Small world, huh?”

Jason grins, most likely from how obviously he affects Dick, but he doesn’t tease him about it. _Thank god._

“Hey, I’m gonna be completely honest here; I knew I was gonna be working with you.” Jason admits. “I was also betting on you not remembering me— _again_ —but you exceeded my expectations. Congrats Grayson, there just might be hope for you yet.”

Dick’s brows furrow in confusion. He remembers Jason heavily implying they’d met before that evening in October, but for the life of him, he can’t imagine where he might have run into Jason beforehand. He’d feels like he would’ve remembered such a face—a man who greatly inspired Dick’s curiosity. It’s maddening, not knowing, and having the information held over his head in ransom, but he’s above begging Jason to tell him the history of their cloudy past.

Jason takes pity on him however, and says, “Okay, fine, here’s a hint…” Jason takes out his phone, thumbs moving over the screen until _Light my Body Up_ plays over the small speakers. Jason watches Dick’s face with intense eyes, waiting for recognition, and it takes Dick a moment of searching his brain for how this particular song plays a part in their first meeting, but when the memory hits him—and boy does it _hit_ him—Dick gasps softly, eyes going comically wide because— _oh_ _my god_ —

Jason hums, pleased, as realization illuminates Dick’s features. He pauses the music, and the only sound that remains in the silence is the heavy thump of Dick’s heartbeat in his ears.

_God_ , how could he forget—

Dick’s eyes lock with Jason’s and his mouth parts, moving for words that falter on the tip of his tongue.

What could he even say?

Dick doesn’t get the chance as Maxine unfortunately chooses this moment to stroll in, declaring they’re ready for Dick and Jason in wardrobe. He dazes off when Maxine begins chastising Jason for being fifteen minutes late to shoot, and they start up a banter back and forth that displays several long hours working together and the familiarity that comes with it.

If there is one thing that’s for sure, it’s that he and Jason won’t have the chance to discuss what transpired between them many months ago.

 

 

_Being underage and getting into clubs had never been much of a problem for Dick, who Gotham viewed as a local celebrity and treated him as such, benefits and all._

_It had been fourth of July weekend and Dick had gun powder in his veins, waiting to be set aflame._

_When Dick was with Kori, they always seemed to gravitate towards dance floor rather than the bar. As they weaved through the writhing crowd, they caught the eyes of both men and women who tried holding their gazes without fail. It wasn’t until they were in the thick of the pulsing bodies surrounding them that Dick pulled Kori to him and slid his hands to her hips, swaying them in tandem to the sensuous beat he could feel reverberate in the marrow of his bones._

_The song eventually ended, changing into something electric and booming, sending the crowd into an uproarious frenzy as whoops and hollers were echoed back and forth. The crowd began jumping up and down in wait for the bass to drop and Dick and Kori followed suit, laughing and clasping hands. It was impossible to be anything other than ecstatic._

_Dick hadn’t expected them to stay together the entire night. Kori’s attention had been snagged by a pretty brunette who looked at Dick for permission before she tugged Kori away in a fit of giggles. Dick let her go with an easy heart, knowing they’d reconnect in an hour at the bar like they’d planned._

_When bodies were cramped this close, it was hard to feel insecure about dancing alone._

_Dick swayed and ran his hands up along his neck, threading his fingers into his hair and closing his eyes as he lost himself in the music and the energy of the crowd. He expertly evaded anyone who put their hands brazenly on his body, spinning away and resuming his own rhythm._

_It wasn’t until a man, dancing by himself as well, caught Dick’s attention. He moved closer, making sure to catch the man’s eye to declare his intentions before he assumed his company was wanted. Dick was young, yes, but that didn’t mean he was inconsiderate. He actively tried to avoid being the kind of person the tabloids claimed he was._

_Tall, dark, and gorgeous smiled at him, eyes knowing. It was a look of a man who knew just how fucking attractive he was. The man kept Dick in a state of suspense until he nodded his head once and motioned Dick over with a jerk of his chin._

_Dick couldn’t help but grin in triumph, feeling special. The man could’ve been dancing with anyone, and yet, he’d chosen him. It was an incredible ego boost, that was for sure._

_As Dick stepped into the man’s space, he wrapped his arms around his neck, fitting his body in close. The man’s hands encompassed Dick’s waist, giving him a squeeze, before he prompted Dick to rock his hips against his own. It was a slow, dirty grind that made Dick’s breath come fast, his cock predictably hardening in response to the proximity and stimulation. He nosed along the man’s neck, inhaling deeply, wanting to lick the smell from his skin. His scent was a mix of sweat, the spice of his cologne, and smoke; a tantalizing amalgamate that made Dick’s body throb in time with his heartbeat._

_Unable to resist the urge any longer, Dick kissed at the man’s neck, parting his lips to steal a quick taste with the flat of his tongue. He gasped when he felt the sudden hard press of arousal shift against his hip, answering Dick’s own that sprung to aching proportions._

_Before Dick could even think of a response, the man spun him with a whirl, pulling Dick back into his hardness where he boldly ground his cock against his ass. The press of him was obscene, but it made Dick earnest, goading him to push back. His arms rose above his head, hands circling around the back of the man’s neck, pulling him in closer. The brush of the man’s lips on the shell of his ear made Dick tremble, his mouth parting on a shuttering exhale as he bit his bottom lip into his mouth. His fingers embedded themselves into the short hairs at the nape of the man’s neck, hanging on for dear life as he moved his hips in sultry motions._

_The last thing Dick wanted to do was leave his embrace, as he was desperate for just one more dance, but the man gradually pulled himself away. He cupped Dick’s face with calloused hands, leaning in close. He angled his head to the side, and spoke into Dick’s ear instead of planting a much-coveted kiss on his lips, like Dick had wanted him to since he’d first laid eyes on him._

_“Thanks for the dance, gorgeous,” he had said. “You’ll be on my mind.”_

 

 

Dick doesn’t know how to act around Jason when the overhead lights come on and the camera start flashing.  

Jason is a different kind of handsome in cut-offs and pink pastels, but he’s devastating all the same. Dick on the other hand feels too big for his limbs, aware of his body in a way that’s utterly unbearable. He hasn’t felt this way since he was thirteen and Barbara Gordon became the first ever star of his shower and late-night fantasies.

Yeah, it feels a little like that.

Maxine gives them a quick synopsis of the characters they’ll be portraying on camera: two young men who are infatuated with each other—not in love, she specifies. They want to impress one another, tempt the other into making the first move, and that’s where the clothes come in.

“Think of it as a spring fling—sweet, passionate, and over just as quick as it started.” Maxine finishes.

Dick nods his head to show that he’s understood, but inwardly he’s freaking out. He turns to Jason who looks calm and collective— _thoughtful_ —when Maxine announces she’s ready to begin.

Wiping the accumulating sweat from his palms onto his pants, Dick winces, remembering the price tags he’d spotted before they’d been snipped off with scissors.  

People seem to forget that he wasn’t always rich. His parents hadn’t had much, but what they did have, they worked their ass off to own with blood and sweat. Thinking of them settles Dick’s nerves a bit, knowing they’d be proud of him for managing to stand under a spotlight even after everything he’s been through.

Dick reaches for Jason, but what he sees stills his outstretched hand.

A fascinating transformation has occurred within him. Jason smiles at Dick, but unlike the flirtatious leer he’d given him in hair and make-up, the turn of his lips is soft, dare he say, almost shy. Dick is stupefied by the sight of it until he realizes that it’s part of the act—the role of two young men who are smitten with one another.

It’s simple after that.

Dick is and always will be performer at heart. It’s sown into his very DNA. He knows how to make an audience fall in love with him, and he supposes posing in front of a camera isn’t all that different either.

While Dick is an entertainer, Jason is an actor. He takes the passenger’s seat as Jason leads them. He’s patient and gentle, and even though it’s an act, Dick can’t help how his heart begins to race whenever Jason pulls him in close and stares at him as if Dick hung the very moon and stars.

If Dick’s not careful, he’ll be a goner.

“Hey Maxine,” Jason shouts. “I’m gonna twirl him, that cool?”

Maxine nods, readying her camera, waiting with baited breath to catch her perfect shot.

Dick raises an exasperated brow, slightly skeptical at being treated like some Disney princess.

“You’re gonna twirl me? Really?”

Jason grins; there’s something alluringly mischievous about the curve of his lips. Dick doesn’t bother to hide the suspicion from his face. Jason chuckles.

“It’ll look good—trust me.”

Jason offers his hand, and Dick takes it, taking a few steps back so he has enough room to maneuver. Dick pivots on his heels, spinning his body in the most aesthetically pleasing way he knows as a former acrobat, and falls into Jason’s chest. He startles when his center of gravity dips, but is quickly reassured when he feels the sturdy weight of Jason’s palm along the small of his back. Jason is holding him— _dipping_ him—and Dick doesn’t have to fake the bewilderment he suddenly feels. Jason’s face is so close to his own that Dick’s cheeks heat and his mouth parts on a sharp inhale when he realizes what Jason plans to do, his eyes asking permission.

Even though he expects the kiss, Dick still gasps when Jason presses their lips together.

Faintly, Dick can hear the shutter of Maxine’s camera go crazy, along with her murmured praise, but it’s all background noise. Jason is at the forefront of all of Dick’s senses, and he’s so full of him.

“Beautiful work, you two,” Maxine says. “I’ll see you both back here in fifteen minutes,” and Maxine, along with her small crew, quietly vacate the premise.

Dick can sense Jason’s reluctance when he slowly pulls away, and Dick can’t help but chase after him, needing another taste. He opens his eyes gradually, dazed and full of wonderment. He’s never shared a kiss that has made him feel so utterly wrecked—dismantled right down the core of his very being—and as he stares at Jason, he knows the older man is feeling the exact same.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” Jason whispers. He’s still holding Dick, grasped carefully in the cradle of his strong arms. “The pretty boy dancing by himself with no care in the world—you took my breath away.”

Dick’s heart seizes.

“Jason—”

“I know I’m coming on really strong—as if I haven’t petrified you enough already—but I’d really like to take you out sometime.”

Dick nods dumbly, eyes wide.

“O-of course,” He stutters, blushing. “I’d like that—a lot.”

Jason smiles.

“It’s a date.”


End file.
